Tangled Webs
by Just Silver
Summary: After Voldemort's defeat, Harry pulls some strings to release the Malfoys from Ministry custody, but what use could Harry possibly have for Draco and Lucius Malfoy? LDH slash and general unpleasantness inside.
1. Not Today

A/N: This is an old piece. It has potential to be part of a short fic or to be a one-shot.

AU, I suppose. Also high squick content for the pairings. There's some DracoxLucius, implied HarryxDraco and possible HarryxLucius. Yes, it gets tangled. Yes, I said Draco/Lucius, as in **incest**. Also note that this fic features a Draco without scruples.

_If you have problems with any of the afore mentioned, for the love of Merlin, please do yourself and me a favor and read something else._

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"Not today. I'll be braver tomorrow, but please, I beg you, not today."

So said the title character in the movie _Marie Antoinette_ and so Lucius wanted to repeat even now. The words were on the tip of his tongue as he clutched at his son and stared into the baleful eyes of Sirius Black. Draco stood tall and unafraid. Lucius was proud of him, was proud of the strength and dignity he showed. Lucius could not afford such dignity.

"Where are you taking my son?" he asked, tightening his grip. Anyone else would have winced, but Lucius felt Draco relax into his touch ever so slightly. It was unnoticeable to anyone, except Lucius, who wanted to cry in relief and bury his face in Draco's neck at the small gesture of trust and intimacy.

"The Ministry would like to question him," Black replied, sneering down at the boy--or so Lucius was inclined to think of Draco. In truth Draco had not been a boy for years. He was a young man now-- a killer when he was told to be, a liar when he had to be, persuasive when he wanted to be.

"Question me regarding what, Mr. Black?" Draco's tone was condescending. His face, Lucius knew, would be cold and hateful. But Draco's hands were reassuring as he discreetly patted Lucius' thigh.

"Regarding the deaths of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger," Black replied.

"You are wasting your time. I know nothing about that," Draco replied smoothly. Draco's hand went to his chin and though he could not see his son's face, Lucius could picture the thoughtful smile slowly spreading across Draco's face-- the smile that would infuriate Black, the smile that made Draco look like an untouchable fiend. "I wasn't even sure of their fate until now. I thank you for telling me, Mr. Black. It has been an awful weight on my mind."

Lucius could barely conceal a smile as Black's face spasmed momentarily with fury. They all knew Draco was lying. Lucius had seen the knife in Draco's hand, had put it there. Draco had been swift in killing them. Draco's real victims were the ones who survived those Draco killed. It was Draco's specialty, drawing out the agony of not knowing, misplacing bodies or making sure they were excruciatingly difficult to identify. The war had ended six months ago and aurors were still finding corpses in the strangest places, sometimes within the very homes of the deceased.

But no one could prove it. Draco left no evidence, never used his own wand to perform the spells, and was immune to veritaserum. And only three people had ever known that and Draco's mother was dead.

"Be that as it may, we are still obliged to question you." A small smile came to Black's face as he said the word "question."

"No!" Lucius cried.

"No?" Black echoed.

"Yes. Draco is a minor under my care. You can't question him without my consent and I say no." Black looked Draco over.

"Your son is barely a minor. I am sure the Ministry will be willing to make adjustments for his precocity." Again that smile.

"Damn you to hell, Black! I am not letting you torture my son." Draco's back straightened again and Draco's fingers flexed at his sides. Lucius knew from experience that this was a bad sign. Draco was on the defensive. Black was too busy enjoying his role as the bearer of bad news to notice Draco's reaction.

"Now, now, Lucius. No one said anything about torture." Black was taunting him.

"You son of a bitch. If you touch him, I'll kill you. I swear it. I swear it by the wretched air filling your lungs that if you hurt my son you will live to regret it."

It was pathetic how Lucius was clinging to Draco, but Draco bore it patiently and, for Draco, patience was an expression of love- the willingness to accommodate himself to others. But when it became clear that Lucius was genuinely afraid for Draco, Draco turned and took Lucius in his arms.

"It will be alright, father." That voice was like a hard kiss. It bruised Lucius wherever it touched him and he liked to remember the sting of it afterward.

"But you are-" the most feared wizard in the world, Lucius wanted to say. Yes, even Lucius took second place to Draco. The Ministry knew how to control Lucius; Lucius always had Draco's best interests in mind. They hadn't figured out how to control Draco yet and that made him very dangerous.

"Going to return to you as soon as possible." Draco's hands touched Lucius' face. Lucius could feel the strength of them. He drew his own strength from them. He had no strength of his own left. They had taken everything from him and he was tired. Draco was his life. If Draco didn't come back- But then those strong, sure hands were moving through his hair, as if Draco could sense the panicky thoughts and was massaging them out of Lucius' skull. Lucius sighed.

"Not today. Why does it have to be today?" he whispered. It was Narcissa's birthday today, a hard day for Lucius and Draco both. "I'll be braver tomorrow, but please not today."

"You will be brave for me today, Father. Lucius. You will be brave because I need you to be."

"I don't trust them, not since Potter is heading up the investigation." Draco suppressed a small chuckle.

"Yes, he is being very Slytherin about the whole thing, isn't he? But I'm not asking you to trust them. I'm asking you to trust me. As long as you are brave, I can be brave."

Lucius closed his eyes. "Say my name again."

"Lucius." It was perfect coming from Draco, as natural as breathing. "I love you, Lucius." Softer that time, barely audible so that Black wouldn't hear it and use it against them. Lucius opened his eyes. Draco pulled him closer and kissed him. Lucius could hear Black gasp in shock. Draco smiled against Lucius' lips and pushed his tongue into Lucius' mouth and Lucius, stunned, accepted it, needing the physical contact.

"I'll be back no later than morning. Can you make it until the morning?" Draco murmured.

"If you kiss me like that again, maybe," Lucius replied. Draco chuckled.

"Maybe I should do more than just kiss you. Give Black a show he'll never forget." Lucius screwed up his nose in disdain.

"Black doesn't deserve such luck." Draco didn't reply, merely kissed Lucius again, pressing him close.

Draco released Lucius slowly, finally opening his arms and drawing back.

"Be brave today," he said. He nodded to Black, who led the way out of the cell and locked the door behind him with nothing short of demonic joy on his face. Lucius collapsed onto the nearest bed.

"I can't do this today," he whispered. He closed his eyes, biting his tongue and feeling the tears that wanted to fall. He waited, testing himself to see if he was weak enough to let them fall today. But they didn't come. He hadn't endured enough to allow himself to cry. He opened his eyes and sighed. He only had to hold out until morning.

Draco was back with the sunrise, arrogant and seemingly indestructible as he walked through the door with little to show for his pains except for a small cut above his left eyebrow and a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. His steps were steady and even as he walked through the doorway. The wave he gave a surly Black was jaunty. As soon as the door shut, he was in bed with Lucius, his arms coming to lock around Lucius' waist, his face buried in Lucius' hair.

"How are you?" he asked. His fingers slid through a gap between the buttons of Lucius' shirt. They were icy.

"Tired," Lucius replied.

"I think they will let us go soon." Lucius laughter was dark. His muscles tensed and Draco's body tensed around him in reaction.

"Why the uncharacteristic optimism?"

"It is not optimism. It is fact. They cannot convict us of anything. They cannot find any dark objects in our home, there are no Dark Marks on our arms. They didn't even catch us at the final battle. They caught us in our home the same night. " Lucius turned in the circle of Draco's arms.

"Are you being simple for my sake? They won't let us go. You should know that. Regardless of whether they have evidence or not, they think we are dangerous." Draco nuzzled his father's neck, an action that took Lucius by surprise. Last night's kiss was the exception, not the norm, and Draco was still new to physical displays of affection. He was a rather distant child.

"Are we so very dangerous, Father?" Lucius could only stare in disbelief, but he recognized the validity of the question.

"We were once," he sighed.

"But I am not a danger to anyone anymore."

"Which is exactly the logic they will use to keep us here. How can we possibly endanger anyone while we're locked up here, where we can't even use magic to wipe our arses?" Lucius whispered, furious. Draco smiled.

"Personally, I am not interested in leading a Dark uprising," Draco drawled, his leg sliding between Lucius' thighs. Lucius' breathing became irregular. "I am more interested in going back to our home, living in self-imposed exile, and fucking you whenever time permits."

"Are you alright?" Lucius asked, drawing back. Draco's grasp became firm.

"I'm fine. I just want you." He kissed Lucius, hard and demanding, his body pressed up against Lucius'.

Lucius made a small sound of surprise around Draco's tongue. Reluctantly, he pushed Draco away. "This is perfectly understandable. You are young and have yet to experience…" Lucius looked for the proper words. "The more physical aspects of a relationship." Draco laughed.

His laughter was quite different from his voice. His laughter was a soft, warm, secretive sound. Very sexy, but Lucius wasn't about to admit that to himself. "You have yet to experience the more physical aspects of a relationship," Lucius repeated firmly, wondering why the thought of his son having sex bothered him more than the thought of his son killing people for amusement.

"Yes, Father," Draco replied, his mouth quirking up at the corners. Lucius glared at him. "Don't look at me like that. I might start to think you're jealous." Lucius didn't like Draco's new tone of voice. It was still a bit hard, but it had the undertones of his laughter.

"Jealous of whom?"

"No one. Because there is no one. Never has been."

The amount of relief Lucius felt at those words was unhealthy.

"As I was saying, you are young and-"

"Randy?" Draco suggested.

"Yes, that will do. And I am the closest person, so naturally, you should-"

"Want to fuck you?" Draco's choice of words annoyed Lucius. He knew he had taught the boy better. What bothered Lucius most was how Draco said it, like he has said it often, as if he liked saying it.

"Yes," Lucius sighed.

"This has nothing to do with convenience, Lucius." His name was candy in Draco's mouth. "This is just me wanting you because you're gorgeous and you belong to me. We belong to each other."

Lucius couldn't think of a fast reply to that. He was too tired from last night's ordeal. He was too floored from this latest, but, if he was completely honest with himself, not entirely unexpected scenario. Draco didn't pursue the issue further, relaxing and letting his body sink into the bed.

"I'm not the only one who wants you, you know. He wants you too," Draco said nonchalantly. He might as well have been commenting on the weather.

"He?"

"Potter," Draco replied, blinking just a little longer than normal. Lucius knew that trick. Draco learned it from Narcissa. She used to tease her "Ice Prince" son that while love seemed to have no use for him, he could have many uses for love. She showed him how to take advantages of the features he had inherited from his parents: blinking slowly to emphasize his long lashes and clear eyes, licking his lips, saying no with a little shake of his head so that his hair would fall over his eyes. It was Draco's greatest cruelty to those he killed: they learned to love him in the end.

Even though Lucius knew that the blink was calculated, it was still effective, and that worried him. "You are dangerous," he said. "They can't be thinking of letting us go." Draco stretched, appeared to be settling down to sleep.

"Well, it's not so much 'they' as it is 'him'. He wants to let us go. He wants to let you go specifically. He doesn't think that prison agrees with you."

"I am so touched by Potter's concern," Lucius replied, voice dripping sarcasm. Draco's face was smooth and solemn.

"Perhaps we should be. If he gets us out of here-"

"He won't." It was an impossible task, even for Potter. But Draco wasn't to be dissuaded.

"If he gets us out of here, he'll want something in return," Draco said, turning to look at Lucius.

Lucius propped himself up on one elbow. He knew what Draco was thinking. If Draco was right and Potter did want Lucius, then Lucius could bargain with him. Lucius looked at Draco and saw him. He saw those sharp cheekbones, the perfect and pale lips, the lithe body, saw the blue veins beneath Draco's skin- veins containing Lucius' blood, Lucius' hopes. He'd do it because he was his son's only chance at freedom.

"Of course he will. Not even Potter is that selfless," Lucius said, settling down under the thin blanket they shared. He closed his eyes in preparation for sleep. Against the back of his eyelids, he could feel Draco smirking.

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Reviews, comments, and constructive criticisms welome. 

much love,

J. Silver


	2. Release

A/N: So there's more, but still no guarantees this will be a full-fledged story. Thanks for all the positive feedback!

Thank you: johncenalover2004, Katherine, Twistedmaniac, The Dark's Desire, Janara, thawritah1, miss-guided, MyFictionalAnnihilation, Avain, skimmie, pGNORM, PrphtssP, tinkita, Black Perla, and Gwen.

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They were released within a week. Draco was--well, Lucius wanted to say "overjoyed". He assumed that somewhere deep down Draco was overjoyed, but he had no proof. Draco only looked thoughtful, though when he realized that his father's eyes were upon him, he smiled his angel/devil smile, the smile that sent chills down Lucius' spine because Draco looked perfectly sweet and innocent when he used it. Lucius knew better.

The Manor was quiet. The wards had been deactivated so that not even the protective crackle and hum of magic could be heard. Lucius sighed. It would take him months to reactivate all the wards and even then, some of those spells had been in place for centuries, before the manor was even built. He listened carefully. No, not all of them were deactivated. The most ancient of them were still there, singing softly.

"Alistair," Lucius called softly. No reply. "Shit," Lucius swore. They took the house elves too. He mentally rebuked himself. How could he hound Draco for using coarse language if he was going to use it himself?

"Alistair at your service, master," a dignified voice said. Lucius turned to face his servant--a very old house elf, left over from the times when it was considered good from to give house elves formal names so that they would carry themselves with pride.

"You are getting slow in your old age." Alistair raised the house elf equivalent of an eyebrow.

"So are you. I was expecting you and Master Draco home weeks ago." Lucius laughed.

"Is this insolence?"

"No, master. I wouldn't dream of such a thing. I was merely stating a fact."

"How many are left, Alistair?"

"Most. Some were killed in the raids."

"Killed? They killed my house elves?" Lucius asked, indignation strong in his voice.

"Well, when said house elves are blocking the doorways while the other house elves are inside removing all traces of dark magic, the aurors have to do what they feel is necessary."

"Tell me you blasted them," Lucius said. Alistair smiled.

"We 'blasted them', to use your quaint phrasing. I think we injured half a dozen of them."

"Good work, Alistair."

"Thank you, master."

"Bring me some tea."

"Yes, master. Am I permitted a question?"

"Yes, Alistair. What is it?"

"What do you plan on doing now?"

"I plan on writing a strongly worded letter to the Minister of Magic."

"Concerning?"

"Compensation for property damage."

"May I remind you, master, that the only witnesses besides the aurors were house elves and that under magical law-"

"House elves are not allowed to give testimony."

"Quite right, master." Lucius frowned to himself.

"I had forgotten. That will be all. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, Master Lucius. It is good to have you home again. It is a pleasure to see you alive and well, Master Draco."

"Something about this place feels different," Draco said once Alistair disappeared.

"The wards are down. I'll have to see to them as soon as possible."

"Anything I can do?"

"See if any of the secret chambers have been compromised."

"Yes, Father." Lucius relaxed a little, glad to see that Draco momentarily seemed to have forgotten the things he had said while they were incarcerated.

Lucius found himself in his study that evening, though the hour was unforgivably late. He had checked the Manor affairs, found them reasonably in order, and drafted his letter to the Ministry. He did not expect them to care that they had damaged what was undeniably his, but he would not cower before them and let them think for a moment that he was defeated or humbled by them or Black or Potter.

Though that last was a puzzle. The time would come, Lucius knew, when Potter would reveal his hand. Until then Lucius could only speculate. He didn't like to speculate. Whenever he contemplated the uses someone might have for himself, a shrewd man with infinitely many connections and even more money, and Draco, barely a man who had a great talent for murder and deception, he shuddered. No conceivable good could come out of it.

He considered reactivating the wards, but that task would require some research and more energy than he could muster. The last months of the war, his weeks of incarceration and the nagging feeling that it was not yet over combined to make him more tired and worn than he had ever felt in his life.

But sleep was beyond him and he knew exactly why.

Draco was behaving very strangely. Granted, Draco was strange in his own right, but his recent behavior was peculiar even for him. He never liked to be touched, coddled, or kissed. Lucius and Narcissa had tried, but what could one do when a child just didn't want to be held? Well, he had once, but he outgrew that phase quickly and once he turned five, no one was allowed to touch him unless it was medically necessary. Around the same time, Draco had taken up the habit of toddling after Lucius whenever he was allowed to meals, inspecting the grounds, visits to the Ministry, sometimes even while bathing. But Draco had stopped following Lucius into the bath once Draco nearly drowned himself in the overlarge tub.

Lucius had used some Muggle form of resuscitation, putting his lips over Draco's in an attempt to breathe life into his son. Draco had opened his eyes, sputtering water everywhere. That was the last time that Draco had allowed Lucius' lips to touch him.

Until now.

Draco came up behind Lucius, making just enough noise not to startle. "I can't sleep, he said softly. Lucius was genuinely surprised.

"That is news," he said, turning his head to look at Draco. He noticed for the first time how sharp the lines of Draco's face had become. Draco had always been a particular eater and prison food hadn't met up with his standards. Draco himself appeared to be starving, but Lucius wasn't sure if he could rightly attribute that hunger to a lack of decent food.

"Don't make me sleep alone," Draco said, his hand coming to rest on Lucius' shoulder. Lucius raised an eyebrow at the gesture, positive that Draco was flirting with him.

"Why not? You've never had any problem sleeping on your own before– not even when your were four and you decided to move your bedroom to a section of the house that we couldn't pay a nanny to sleep near. A small grin flitted across Draco's lips. His eyes widened slightly.

"Suppose I have a nightmare about the aurors coming to take me away?" he whispered. Lucius laughed.

"You give other people nightmares. Most aurors are just as scared of you as you are definitely not of them." Draco smiled his mother's smile– a conciliatory smile that acknowledged defeat in one way, but was determined to win in another.

"Okay, so I'm not scared of them, but my bed is big and empty and I'm not used to either as of late."

Truth be told, neither was Lucius. As a matter of safety, Lucius and Draco had always shared a bed in their cell. As a matter of comfort too. It was easier for Lucius to fall asleep with the warmth of another human being beside him and it made the winter more bearable. In the end, he gave in to Draco. He had no choice really. But he made it clear that Draco only had permission to sleep in Lucius' bed, not "share" it. Draco agreed, but Draco was liar.

They got into Lucius' bed, the same way they had gotten into the prison bed together, minus a few layers of clothing. At home, they wore pajamas instead of robes. Draco's arms went around Lucius' waist, but it felt different. As Draco settled down, Lucius could feel every shifting muscle beneath the thin layers of satin covering them both. It was unnerving to say the least. Draco kissed Lucius behind the ear, softly, just a light press of the lips. When Lucius didn't respond, Draco kissed Lucius' neck, lips parting slightly, Draco's breath ghosting over Lucius' skin. Draco's teeth grazed Lucius' collarbone. Draco's tongue tasted the salt of Lucius' skin. Draco's grip on Lucius tightened. Lucius pulled away from his son.

"I don't want to do this," he said.

"You don't want to do what? You don't want to have sex? You don't want to have sex with me? Or you don't want to have sex with your son?" Lucius could see the expression on Draco's face even with his back turned. Draco's eyes would have narrowed at first, but they would have come back to normal and then his lashes would have lowered and he would have pouted. Now his eyes would have widened and his smile would have been angelic. Lucius closed his eyes. Draco was going to be the death of him. He had always known it, but now he was certain that Draco wouldn't just be his death, but his complete and utter ruin.

"They are the same," he replied. He heard the rustle of fabric as Draco moved towards him, felt the warmth as Draco settled over him, an arm and a leg on each side.

"No, it's not the same. If you tell me that you're not interested in sex at all, that's one thing. If you tell me that you have no sexual attraction to me, that's another." Draco's thigh brushed against Lucius' crotch. "But I don't think that's the problem." Lucius could hear the triumphant smile in Draco's voice. "But to tell me that after all that we've done together-- after the bloodshed and the manipulation and the torture-- that you balk at the idea of something so harmless as consensual sex with your son…why, that's laughable."

Draco's tongue traced the rim of Lucius' ear. Lucius shivered. "So what is the reason?" Oh, yes, total ruin. Lucius met Draco's gaze and Draco seemed to be the Devil incarnate and Lucius would give Draco his soul, if he still had one. He sighed.

"It seemed appropriate to put up a fight, at least for propriety's sake." Draco chuckled.

"Since when do you give a damn about propriety?"

"Since our release," Lucius said. It was true. If Potter let him and Draco go, then he would expect them to be model citizens afterward. Actually, Potter probably wasn't that stupid. He wanted the Malfoys for something else, but appearing to be law-abiding citizens for a few years wasn't a bad idea anyway.

"Propriety stops at the bedroom door," Draco said. Lucius suppressed a laugh.

"Your mother-"

"Knew how I felt, how I've always felt." Lucius turned onto his back. Draco allowed it, settling on top of Lucius.

"And how do you feel?" It wasn't an unexpected question, but Lucius truly wanted to know. He never knew how Draco felt about anything. He knew Draco's habits, his likes and dislikes, and he could interpret Draco's actions, but he could never understand what drove Draco. His son's thoughts and emotions were incomprehensible to him.

"You are the only person in the world that means anything to me," Draco said, bringing his hands up to Lucius' chest and resting his chin on his hands.

"Has your obsession with Potter cooled then?" Lucius asked, his voice a little mocking. Draco smiled a little and when he spoke, it was as if he were explaining something to a small child.

"Potter was a diversion for me, something to take out my frustrations on when you weren't around. A way to get your attention."

"And now that you have my undivided attention?"

"Then I am no longer interested in him," Draco replied matter-of-factly.

"Did you ever have sex with him, Draco?" To Draco's credit, he never flinched.

"Once, while you were busy with the Death Eaters. I stayed at Hogwarts that holiday because you didn't have time to see me." Lucius didn't say anything, only let his fingers comb through Draco's hair. Draco continued hesitantly, sounding like a child for the first time in a very long time. "We were arguing and he insulted you and I hit him. Then we were rolling on the ground and I don't remember who kissed whom first." Draco was no longer gazing at Lucius, but at his own fingers. Lucius resisted the urge to ask more questions, checking a violent surge of curiousity. "It was not a relationship. It was anger and physical release of that anger."

"So what do I mean to you?" Lucius asked. Those long lashes fluttered down to Draco's cheeks again.

"You don't remember what I told you that night in prison when Black came for me? I love you, Lucius. It was okay then. It was okay for us to kiss then. Why isn't it okay now?" There was cold anger in Draco's voice, thinly veiling a sense of desperation. Draco, in his own way, was pleading. Draco never pleaded for anything. Lucius was simultaneously worried nd flattered. But what man, when his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?

Their kiss was the decimation of nearly 17 years of trust and control. If he was going to be damned, then Lucius wanted it to be worth it. It was worth it. It was worth every second of self-rebuke he was going to undergo later to feel Draco explode in his arms, to feel the loss of control that was stealing over them, to taste him and know that Draco was his completely.

He undid the buttons of Draco's top quickly, running his fingers over the smooth skin. He pressed a kiss to the planes of Draco's chest. He heard Draco's breath hitch, felt his son's hips rise. Lucius hooked his fingers over Draco's waistband. "You're not going to remember Potter when I'm through with you," he whispered. Draco laughed breathlessly.

"Promise?" he asked.

"Promise." He took off Draco's clothes slowly, like he was savoring a gift, kissing the newly exposed skin. It was pale but Lucius brought the blood to the surface with his lips and his teeth and he wondered if Draco bruised easily. He had never hit Draco, and so had never experienced the bruising of Draco's skin firsthand.

Draco clung to Lucius, the muscles in his legs like iron as they clamped around Lucius' hips. "Relax," Lucius whispered in Draco's ear. He didn't mind the ferocity of the embrace. He appreciated the solidity, was looking forward to fingering the bruises on his hips for days to come to remind himself of this. "If you stay this tense, this is going to hurt." Draco tightened his grasp on Lucius.

"I want it to hurt. Every time I move, I want to remember the last time you were in me."

"Need the reminder be painful?"

"Pain is the only thing that lasts." Draco's eyes were half-closed but the set of his mouth was strong. Lucius kissed him again, forcing his tongue past Draco's teeth, surprised when Draco returned the kiss with equal force, teeth clacking together and then a stinging pain as Draco bit Lucius' tongue and the most delicious little shudder as Draco sucked at the wound he had inflicted.

Draco reached up and pulled the ribbon from Lucius' hair. Lucius hair fell down around them both. "I haven't seen you with your hair down since our capture," Draco sighed.

"You must have been spying on me then," Lucius replied.

"Are you surprised?" Draco asked, grinning archly.

"Would I be naive if I said 'yes'?" Lucius asked. Draco's expression was dreamy.

"Before that it was at Christmas, at the masquerade. You're so beautiful when you think no one is watching." Draco's last comment was an unexpected gift, said with an almost-tenderness that Lucius had not thought Draco capable of. He kissed the boy softly in thanks.

"Please, I've waited far too long for you– for this." It would seem that "please" really was the magic word.

When Lucius slid into Draco, he knew with complete certainty that he was going to hell. This was hell– taking his son this way, despite the reservations he still had, but it was worth it. It was worth it to watch his ice prince son thaw in heat of their passion, to hear his name whispered in ecstasy when the boy had no breath to moan and not enough self-control to stay quiet– and Draco's self-control was considerable.

When Lucius had initialed and signed his soul away to his son, he kissed Draco again. Draco's arms came around his neck with a boneless sort of grace. "Take me again," he whispered. Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I want to take advantage of your agreeable state of mind. Tomorrow you might be more resistant to my charms," Draco explained. Lucius chuckled.

"Sleep now," he said. "We'll see if my resistance to you improves overnight."

As an exercise in futility, Lucius rather hoped it would.

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Comments adored! 

love,

J. Silver


	3. The Boy Who Loved Wrongly

A/N: Thank you for the overwhelmingly positive feedback on this story. There's more…probably because I can't get the idea of Lucius/Draco and a scheming Harry out of my head.

Mostly the L/D, though. I've developed writer's kink for platinum blondes, methinks.

I'm so glad that so many of you are enjoying my characterizations of Lucius and Draco and I hope that you will continue to do so and let me know if they get too wildly out of it. I also hope that when Harry appears in future chapters, you'll... appreciate his characterization as well.

Um... hardcore **smut warning **at the end of this chapter. And I've mentioned this fic involves **incest**, right? Good!

Enjoy!

* * *

Lucius was not any more resistant to Draco's charms the next day. Or the next. Or the next. By the fourth day he was craving Draco the way he hadn't craved anything except for Fire whiskey during the week following Narcissa's death. After that week, he had sworn never to touch the stuff again, but after the shock of recent events, Lucius was on his fourth drink of the day. 

And it wasn't even noon yet.

It was frightening, really. That morning he hadn't been able to make it through breakfast without pulling Draco out of his chair and bending him over the table. That Draco had submitted so easily and moaned so prettily, his eyelashes fluttering, did not bode well for the prospect of having normal, uninterrupted meals in the future.

What had happened to Lucius to make such a thought even enter his mind, let alone to make him act on it so easily and so brutally?

Draco had happened. Draco had possessed him in ways that no one, not even his wife, had ever had. Lucius was obsessed. He always had been obsessed with Draco, and he admitted that it wasn't always in a healthy way, but at least then he had been motivated primarily concern for Draco—his health, his future, his education, his overall ability to handle all that being a Malfoy entailed. With this sudden shift in the nature of their relationship, Lucius wasn't sure even he was able to handle all that being a Malfoy entailed. Now he was obsessed with things that, as Draco's father, he shouldn't even wonder about in passing: the taste of Draco's lips, the moans that Draco made when Lucius slid inside him, the way Draco's body shuddered when he came.

More often than not, Lucius would find Draco staring at him, gaze unwavering, eyes glittering with an unsatisfied hunger. In past days, Lucius had confused that look with rapt attention at best or Draco fantasizing about some far off goal at worst. The horror was that Lucius had been right on both counts: Draco was paying Lucius rapt attention because he was what Draco fantasized about having. Now when Draco caught Lucius staring at him the same way, thinking those unthinkable thoughts, he smiled a coy little smile as if to say "So at last we understand each other, Father."

Lucius wondered at how easily he gave into Draco's request. He examined his conscience for anything that indicated that his love for Draco had not been strictly paternal. Had he not marveled to himself and sometimes to Narcissa over how pretty Draco was? Had he not wished that Draco was a more affectionate child so that Lucius could give in to his compulsion to hug his only son close to him on nights when he returned from Voldemort's service and had seen Draco in the faces of the Muggle children that he had helped terrorize? Had he not been secretly jealous over Draco's obsession with Harry Potter?

Despite turning his past inside and out, he could not find anything. Not before Narcissa's death. After Narcissa's death, he had needed Draco more than Draco needed him and Draco had risen to the task of looking after his father magnificently… and then he was slightly more affectionate than he ever had been, allowing Lucius to hold his hand during the funeral, holding Lucius long afterward…

"Draco---" Lucius began, suddenly struck with a thought. Draco looked up from his reading, his blank face the picture of innocence. Lucius frowned, having no idea how to phrase the question that had formed in his mind. Draco smiled.  
"I didn't kill Mother," he said, calmly. Lucius was momentarily dumbstruck.  
"How—" he began, once he recovered his ability to speak. Draco continued to smile. It was a rare smile, one that was meant to be reassuring.  
"I knew you'd start to wonder sooner or later. I didn't. I loved Mother—not as I loved you, of course, but all the same…"  
"When did this happen?" Lucius asked, scanning his own memory for something that might have hinted at Draco's true feelings, some shift in his behavior toward Lucius…

"Remember the time I nearly drowned?" Lucius nodded. "Do you remember how I did it again the next day?" No, that had been a detail Lucius had forgotten, time and horror melding the two instances into one in his mind. "The first time, it was an accident."  
"Why did you try to drown yourself again?"  
"I wanted you to kiss me again." Lucius' eyebrows went up. " I knew then that the feelings I had for you weren't normal. "  
"You didn't have to drown yourself for me to kiss you. Lots of fathers kiss their sons. You just had to let me."  
"I didn't want to be kissed that way. I wanted you to kiss me the way you kissed Mother. I wanted you to touch me the way you touched Mother and the way you touched yourself, in the bath, when you didn't know that I was there." The thought of Draco witnessing Lucius that way, and wanting it, made Lucius' knees weaken and he wasn't sure if it was from desire or revulsion.

"There were two reasons I never let you touch me after that. I was afraid, for one. I was afraid that if you touched me, you'd be able to tell how I felt and that you wouldn't love me anymore. Secondly, I didn't want you to touch me at all if it wasn't going to be how I wanted." Lucius smiled at that statement. Narcissa and Draco had been very alike in their inability to compromise.

"Do you think I'm a monster?" Draco asked, his eyes very wide and his face very solemn. Lucius thought that he might be able to survive Draco if only Draco could make up his mind whether he was an icy killer or an innocent, devoted son. Lucius loved both, and could resist neither, but the way Draco oscillated from one extreme to the other was not helping the decay of Lucius' sanity at all.

"I love you," he said. He meant it. He wasn't sure exactly how he meant it—if he meant it as a father or more—but it was true and would always be true. Draco smiled the angel/devil smile—more devil than angel this time.

"You didn't answer my question," he said. Lucius smiled.

"No. Beautiful and terrifying, yes, but I don't think you're a monster." Draco flashed him a brilliant smile, one that Lucius recognized as genuine.

"Come here," Lucius said. Puzzled, Draco rose and went to Lucius' desk. "Closer." Draco walked around the desk to Lucius' chair. Lucius pulled Draco down into his lap. His hand found Draco semi-hard. He kissed Draco's neck. "That's what I thought," he murmured, his lips moving against Draco's skin. "What did you think when you saw me in the bath?" Draco sighed, leaning back against Lucius.  
"You were beautiful. You are always beautiful, but I loved it best when you were just about to get into the bath, with your hair falling around you."

"Go on," Lucius prodded, feeling Draco grow harder against his hand.  
"You'd get into the bath, let the water cover you, and then sometimes, you'd reach down—" Draco stopped suddenly when he noticed Lucius unbuttoning his pants.  
"Yes?" Lucius said, pushing Draco's clothing down to his knees.  
"And you take yourself in your hand—"  
"Like this?" Lucius asked, wrapping his hand around Draco's erection. Draco nodded frantically. Lucius smiled. Obsessed or not, he did love seeing Draco bothered. It was exciting on its own as a novelty, but he was beginning to love it as a sign of how deeply he affected his son. He kissed Draco's neck again. "Go on."

"You'd start slowly." Draco hissed and nearly shot out of Lucius' lap when Lucius hand began to move—slowly, as he had described. Lucius wrapped his free arm around Draco, holding him close.  
"What would you do?"  
"I'd follow along with you, biting my hand so that you wouldn't hear the noise I was making." A sudden movement on Lucius' part made Draco moan.  
"Noises like that?" Lucius asked.  
"Yes, like that," Draco said, the nails of one hand digging into Lucius' thigh, the other hand gripping the arm of the chair. Lucius repeated the motion. This time Draco whimpered and Lucius' knees turned to water in a sudden rush of lust.  
"Why on earth would you stifle such a beautiful sound?" he murmured into Draco's neck, nuzzling the soft, warm skin there.  
"Didn't want you to know my secret."  
"That you were watching me?" Nodding. "And getting aroused by it?" More nodding. "Tell me what happened then."  
"You'd tighten your grip, still—" Draco's sentence gave way to a moan as Lucius adjusted.  
"H'm?"  
"Still going slowly."  
"How could you tell I tightened my grip?"  
"Experimentation in my own bed. I couldn't figure it out at first."  
"What did you think about, while you were experimenting in your bed?" Lucius asked, though he knew already, and he also knew that he was going to have a hard time ridding himself of that image. It burned in his mind even now.

"You, pretending that it was your hand that was—"  
"Doing this to you?" Draco nodded. He was close. Lucius could tell. He allowed himself a small smirk.  
"How did I finish?"  
"You'd gradually speed up—" Which Lucius did for Draco, smiling at the desperate moans the boy was making. "Until the last few strokes."  
"Which were always hard and slow," Lucius finished, as Draco finished, coming over himself and Lucius' hand.

Lucius pulled Draco more completely into his lap, enjoying the weight of Draco in his arms. It should've been familiar, but it was not yet, a fact that Lucius mourned. Draco sighed contentedly. It was a sweet sound, one that Lucius could only recall Draco making on one or two occasions prior. He stored it in the back of his mind as something to cherish.

As Draco slipped into a light doze, Lucius wondered what would become of them. He knew that he had to stop tearing himself apart over this. It wouldn't do to give Draco any reason to think that Lucius was disgusted by him or his feelings for Lucius. So, he would stop fighting. If he was damned, then so be it. At least, Draco would be damned with him. Somehow, that was a comforting thought.

Lucius let his eyes close and gave himself over to sleep.

* * *

More Draco/Lucius bonding before we bring Harry into the mix. Once Harry comes in things become… difficult. Anyway, review, m'dears, and I'll be back as soon as Lucius and Draco oblige me with inspiration. 

Love,  
J. Silver


	4. The Man Who Killed Voldemort

A/N: In which Harry makes his first appearance...

Thanks to those of you that reviewed Chapter 3: lil-bugga, The Dark's Desire, Madd Girl, and badluck-ngprod.

Special thanks to Penguin Steps!

* * *

There was an inch of skin between the last fastened button on Draco's shirt and the waistband of his pants. That inch of skin was serving as the bane of Lucius' concentration as the elder Malfoy attempted to make the final calculations to repair one of the more important wards around the Manor. It was a difficult, complicated process, but one Lucius usually enjoyed. He had discovered at an early age what he lacked in sheer strength of magic could often be offset by creative applications of magical theory. Breaking down something as vast and complex as magic into easy to manipulate pieces and rearranging them, and consequently the world around him, to suit his whim and purpose thrilled Lucius on every level.

However, on this day, because of a small strip of pale, flawless skin, the joy of manipulating the basic essence of life as Lucius knew it was lost. Where formulas for calculating the influence of the pull of the Moon in conjunction with Mars on the casting of an old and delicate barrier spell should have been, Lucius had a blank patch of parchment. While he should have been pondering what effect the magical void created by a medium-sized town of Muggles would have on the life expectancy of this spell, all Lucius could contemplate was what he could do to that vulnerable bit of skin with his tongue and teeth.

The lack of self-discipline, as evidenced by his inability to focus, vexed Lucius greatly. He should have been above this and he was quietly furious that he was not. He put his quill to paper, writing down the next step in his calculations, scolding himself with a vengeance. He was not a hormone-driven teenager . He was master of himself and he would not let any part of his anatomy but his brain do his thinking for him. He wouldn't.

_At this time of the month, the moon should be full, and shining brilliantly--_ and Draco's skin would be radiant in its light. Lucius would bring red to the surface of that pure white skin with his teeth, marking Draco as his in that secret, hollow place just beneath Draco's hipbone, which was just barely visible above the waisband of Draco's—

Lucius made a sound in his throat that was a cross between a growl of annoyance and a sigh of defeat. He was about to snap his quill in frustration when a letter arrived via owl. Lucius took a look at the initials on the wax seal and sighed one more. He had known it was only a matter of time before Potter contacted him. However, Lucius had been hoping for more than a week's peace.

Resigned to the idea that rest was something reserved for those who were either unimportant or dead, he opened the letter immediately. It was an invitation to attend one of the press conferences Potter seemed to be holding on a regular basis. While the invitation was very politely worded, Lucius got the distinct impression that a negative response would be entirely unacceptable. He accepted the invitation with a mild frown.

"Father?" Lately, Lucius was beginning to suspect that Draco used that title to test him, to dig into whatever bits of conscience Lucius had left and see if Lucius was really and truly fine with their situation. There was no need for Draco to do such a thing; Lucius had tried the same thing himself. He had spent a good deal of time this past week looking at himself in the mirror and telling himself that his affair with Draco was unforgivable and that all of the abominations he had perpetuated, this was the worst and his wife would have killed him repeatedly for this. His ancestors would be turning in their graves and the shade of his own father would curse him.

Then Lucius took a good look at his too white-blond hair and his crystal blue eyes that were too free of any other pigmentation and he got the feeling that his incestuous affair was hardly the first of its kind in Malfoy history. Lucius used that as an excuse for his inability to feel guilt over this. It was in his blood, Draco was in his blood. That made this inevitable. Inevitable that like would call to like and Lucius would take such pleasure in his son, who so like him but so utterly alien. Inevitable that Lucius found himself needing Draco like he needed air. Inevitable that Lucius would know a completion he had not felt with Narcissa when he joined with Draco, who had truly been created from him, more his partner, his mate, than Narcissa, whose blood connection was so watered down that it was barely there.

Their parents had thought that the blood divide between Lucius and Narcissa would make it safe for them to have a child. How wrong they were.

"Son?" Lucius replied, arching a pale eyebrow. Draco gave a small smile.

"Do you suppose that Potter really went through all this trouble for you?" he asked, lowering his eyelashes. Even through the fringe of golden lashes, Lucius could traces of plotting in Draco's eyes. Merlin help them all if Draco ever thought he needed to view Potter as a rival for Lucius' affection. Things had been intense enough when Draco and Potter were thirteen and fighting for the Snitch. Now that they were older and had acquired rather gruesome skill sets, Lucius didn't really want to think of what kind of nasty things they could inflict upon one another. He snorted.

"Hardly. He needn't have bothered releasing us, if that was all he wanted." That was true. Abuse of prisoners, while not terribly common in the aftermath of Voldemort's second rising, would have been easy for someone like Potter to arrange. It would have been easier still for the wizarding world to turn a blind eye, especially if the prisoners in question happened to be as infamous as Lucius and Draco.

"I didn't think so either," Draco said quietly. Lucius frowned at the equation for the wards, and said nothing further.

The press conference at the headquarters of the newly formed Department of War Crimes was a small riot when Lucius and Draco arrived. As per Potter's instructions, they arrived the same way the rest of the Ministry's guests did, exactly a moment before Potter arrived to begin his prepared remarks. It was just long enough for everyone to realize that the Malfoy family had made their first public appearance since their incarceration, but not long enough for anyone to have a chance to harass them.

Potter swept past them on his way to the podium set up for the occasion. He acknowledged Lucius and Draco with a slight nod. Draco pretended not to see him, an action that would be noted by some of the more observant reporters and taken as an indication that even prison had not managed to wring a shred of feeling from the Ice Prince. That would suit Draco just fine. That was the mask he had chosen to wear all of his life. It would serve him just as well now as it had before.

Lucius returned Potter's nod with a condescending one suitable for someone of his politics. The corner of Potter's mouth quirked at the gesture. He met Lucius' gaze for a brief instance, as if to chide him, and then continued to the front of the room. Lucius tried very hard not to stare after him. It had been months since Lucius had come face to face with Potter, and at least one thing was clear: Harry Potter was no longer the Boy Who Lived. He was now an entirely different creature-- all that had ever been childlike or innocent about him had been burned away by war.

In a wizard's three-piece suit, Potter should have looked like a child playing dress up. At barely seventeen, still very slight and forever just below average height, Potter should've looked absolutely ridiculous in dress trousers, a waistcoat, an open robe, a blindingly white shirt and a dark tie. After all, the past three Ministers of magic had all looked stiff and uncomfortable to the point of absurdity in the very same style. Instead, Potter just looked formidable. He radiated natural power, in a manner not dissimilar from Voldemort. It showed in the set of his shoulders, in eyes that blazed behind wire-frame glasses.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, honored guests of the Ministry," Potter began with a smile that unpleasantly reminded Lucius of Albus Dumbledore. "Shall we begin?"

Potter gave a short speech about the movements of the remnants of Fenrir Greyback's pack and the Ministry's suspicion that some of the Death Eaters that had yet to be captured had fled to Romania. Lucius refrained from raising an eyebrow. Any part of Romania so remote that it would host Death Eaters would also be home to one of the world's strongest vampire clans. Lucius sincerely doubted that the late Voldemort's followers would be welcome there, since the alliance between Clan Dracul and Voldemort had been shaky at best.

There was some more talk of minor Dark lords that were rumored to have risen in Voldemort's wake. Potter denied that such rumors were true, saying they were most likely just the result of hysterics and paranoia regarding the actual fact of Voldemort's death. Any disbelievers, he said, were more than welcome to drop by the Department of War Crimes' archival collection and see Voldemort's head, if that would give them any peace. Beside Lucius, Draco smirked. Lucius bit back a smirk of his own. If he had been in the position to fear Voldemort's return, he highly doubted that the disembodied head of Voldemort would have given him any comfort.

That was when Potter announced that he would be taking questions now. The noise level in the room jumped at once, as dozens of reporters tried to catch The Golden Boy's attention at the same time. The first question came from a dark-haired man in tacky plaid robes. "Mr. Potter, did the ministry really clear Remus Lupin and his packmates in the savage attack on Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, Lupin and the others questioned were part of an offensive movement by the Order of the Phoenix the night of the Hogsmeade attacks. The Ministry suspects that the werewolves responsible for Hogsmeade were in league with Greyback, possibly a smaller pack going by the name of Longshanks."

"How can you be sure that the werewolves just released aren't a danger?" asked another reporter, a middle-aged woman in lilac.

"They are now registered with the Ministry. They will receive vials of Wolfsbane Potion before the full moon and will be required to send samples of their blood bearing traces of the potion prior to moonrise."

"Isn't that expensive?" asked a young witch, wrinkling a very pert nose.

"Less expensive than training healers to tend to werewolf bites, Ma'am," Potter said curtly. The young woman had the decency to look slightly abashed.

"Mr. Potter! Any comment on the recent release of former Death Eaters Lucius and Draco Malfoy?" Lucius resisted the urge to glare. That question came courtesy of Rita Skeeter. Lucius would've recognized her obnoxious quill and dyed blond curls from Hogwarts.

An anxious silence fell over the room at the mention of Lucius and Draco Malfoy, most recently accused of murdering Harry's closest friends. The Man who Killed Voldemort had been quiet with respect to the Malfoys' release and the invesitgation of his friends' deaths, even though as head of the newly created Department of War Crimes, it was his investigation. Several reporters were so bold as to actually turn to gawk at the Malfoys. Neither Lucius nor Draco deigned to acknowledge their stares.

"Mr. Malfoy and his son were investigated by my department and we found no evidence to convict them of more than being overly vocal supporters of Voldemort's politics, due to strong coercion by Voldemort himself.

I ask that you please leave Mr. Malfoy and his son alone, as I'm sure they would like to enjoy their newfound freedom in peace."

"You mean to say, Mr. Potter, that you trust the Malfoy's are wholly innocent?" asked Ms. Skeeter, not bothering to hide the astonishment in her voice. Harry's expression turned cold.

"Madam, if I thought they were guilty of a crime, would I have released them?" he asked, his voice daring her to question his judgment. The reporter shook her head quickly. Harry smiled at her.

And that was the end of that. All open speculation of the association of the Malfoys ceased. As great as the fear of Lucius' machinations and Draco's horrific murders was, the faith of the wizarding community in Harry was stronger. At the very least, those who did not entirely trust Harry realized that, if one did not want to cross Lucius, Draco, or Harry individually, one most certainly did not want to cross the three of them in league.

Which was a preposterous idea, really. Why on earth would Harry Potter be in league with the Malfoys?

A man with endless connections and wealth.

A young man with a talent for murder and deception.

A young man with the love and respect of the entire wizard population.

No good could come of it. As a matter of survival, Lucius had developed a sense for that sort of thing, and that sense was quietly going haywire.

He left without talking to Potter directly, but he knew that a direct confrontation was inevitable. He intended to be well prepared for it.

* * *

More Harry in the next chapter. Meanwhile, be a dear and review! 

Love,

J. Silver


	5. Reparations

A/N: More Harry in this chapter.

Many thanks to those who reviewed: demon-from-fieryhell, hippogriffluvr, Falcon-Jade-Darkness, Ch3rryphr34k, The Dark's Desire, akuma-river, ellis90210, Madd Girl, Penguin Steps ( I'm sure a more detailed physical description of Harry will come up at some point.), and Viktoria.

* * *

Upon their return home, Lucius secured back issues of the Daily Prophet from the time of Voldemort's defeat up until the day after he and Draco had been released. He then shut himself in his study, emerging only in the small hours of the morning long enough to satisfy both his addiction to Draco and his body's ridiculous insistence on sleep. For three days, he read voraciously, absorbing all remotely useful information the Prophet had.

It was Potter who had gone to face Voldemort alone and by all accounts returned with the Dark Lord's head. It was Potter's suggestion to create a special department within the ministry to handle war crimes. It was Potter, who in his own backhanded way, suggested that faith in the Ministry would be the easiest way to return to normal life.

As head of the Department of War Crimes, a position Potter had originally declined, Potter had been scrupulously fair. People Lucius knew to be innocent despite all appearances had gone free. People who had never had their names brought up in conjunction with Voldemort's were brought to trial and held fully accountable for crimes that almost no one had known they had committed.

All in all, Potter's track record was excellent, until he got to Draco and Lucius. The Prophet had been dead certain that the Malfoys would receive the Dementor's Kiss. The general consensus had been that Lucius would not be able to buy his freedom, not with Harry in charge, so it was all the more puzzling when Lucius and Draco had joined the ranks of Harry's innocent.

But Potter had never been wrong before, which meant that he had to be right about the Malfoys, didn't it? Many letters to the editor of the Daily Prophet argued over that very point. Was Potter correct in declaring the Malfoys innocent? It seemed that many people were inclined to agree that the Malfoy family was largely all talk and a large bank account-- a sentiment that made Lucius sneer. The biggest issue seemed to be that people wanted the Malfoys to be convicted, not on solid proof, but simply because many people would swear that the Malfoys were dark and would eat their own broomsticks if the Malfoys weren't anymore dangerous than your average wizard.

"It's comes down to a whole lot of jealousy, really. Many of the people demanding a conviction for Lucius Malfoy and his son would love any excuse to seize the Malfoy assets and see the family humiliated. That's pettiness, not justice, and anyone who goes along with it should be ashamed of themselves," Potter was quoted as saying the day after the press conference Lucius had attended.

That alone was enough to make Lucius nervous. With a statement like that, Potter was either a brilliant liar or an idiot. Lucius was rather afraid it was the former, and that statement was a perfect set up. It was the kind of statement one would make before a large, public demonstration of good faith. Lucius didn't think that he'd welcome a gesture of good faith from Potter. He didn't want to be indebted any further to the Man Who Killed Voldemort. The debts he had incurred to date would already cost him more than he could comfortably afford.

Lucius didn't like Potter's biweekly press conferences. It made the reporters lazy and nearly all of them received their information directly from Potter. Voldemort could've been reborn and declared himself the French Minister of Magic, but as long as Potter gave his usual press conference and said that the man was dead, no one would have bothered to check otherwise. Not that Lucius had any suspicions about the fall of the Dark Lord. The absence of his mark on Lucius' arm satisfied Lucius on that account. What disturbed Lucius was the blind faith of the wizarding press in Harry Potter, whom up until he finally defeated Voldemort, they had tried to paint as an emotionally disturbed boy with a thirst for attention and an addiction to reckless behavior. The press' sudden about face, while expected, was disturbingly consistent.

There had to be conflicting information somewhere, some source whom Potter did not control. Lucius broke the seal on a fresh bottle of ink and set a box of his personal stationary on his desk. With a flourish, he began to write the first of many letters. It was time to activate a network of contacts he hadn't dared use since Voldemort's rebirth at the Triwizard tournament.

When those letters had been sent, Lucius set out to find Draco. He found his son in the Hall of Magical Artifacts, which sounded slightly more benign than "the Armory." Draco was throwing knives. He had a vast collection of them, not all of them were meant for throwing. Some of them were meant for concealing, or carving, and then again some of them were simply for looking beautiful. The more useful ones were spelled to recognize Draco as their rightful master, and all of the knives adjusted their sharpness according to Draco's whim.

"What are you doing?" Lucius asked, a little surprised.

"Preparing," was Draco's response, his face blank and lovely as he threw a handful of knives and willed them all to very specific points. If the target Draco had conjured had been a real person, Draco would have severed several major arteries simultaneously.

"Are you expecting another war?" Draco did not answer him directly, instead choosing his next weapon with deliberate care. Having found one that satisfied him, he picked it up and turned to face Lucius. When he spoke, his tone was nonchalant and the look on his face was wry.

"Do you know, I've asked myself for a very long time, 'What does someone like Potter want?' Of course, I could never get a real answer because there is no one like Potter. So recently, I've been asking myself 'What does he want? What makes him even bother?' " Draco turned and flicked the knife at the target. He turned back to Lucius. "Can you guess what that is, Father?" Draco flicked his wrist lazily and the knife turned in mid-air and returned to his hand.

Lucius shook his head. He would be as adept at figuring out what Potter really wanted as he was at figuring out what Draco had really wanted. What Potter was planning, that he would figure out. What actions he was taking, that Lucius could figure out. What Potter was feeling… well, Lucius simply did not know Potter well enough to know that.

Draco would know. That sort of thing was Draco's field-- peeling back layers and exposing the heart of the matter to light. It's what made him terrifying in those moments when he broke his ice prince façade and chose to notice someone. More often than not, he saw them in their entirety—strengths, fears, and weaknesses. Most people would prefer to go unseen rather than suffer such scrutiny. Draco had also been obsessed with Potter, with the boy hero who had no awareness of his own talent or charisma, and yet managed to steal the spotlight from absolutely everyone all the time. Talent and obsession combined would certainly be useful in reading Potter now.

"What Potter wants more than anything is for all this to end." Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"But the war has already ended." Draco laughed. It was a dark sound, full of amusement as sharp as the knife in Draco's hand. Lucius fought to hide a wince. He hated that sound. Narcissa had adopted that sound from Lucius' own mother, Julia Malfoy. It usually signified that Lucius had drastically underestimated something and stood to make a stupid mistake. Still, even when Narcissa or Julia had made that sound, it lacked the sheer sting behind Draco's. It appeared that Draco had not only picked it up from Narcissa, he had perfected it.

"Lucius, haven't you been reading the Prophet? The war has only ended when Potter says it has ended," and with that, Draco sent the knife flying again. It severed the heart of the target into two perfect halves.

Potter sent Lucius a very official notice, informing him of the exact time, place, and manner of his arrival. It had come on parchment with a Department of War Crimes header and a Ministry of Magic watermark, and it had been delivered by a plain, but well-kept barn owl, whose collar bore the crest of the Ministry. Yes, very official. Lucius wondered whether Potter thought he would be impressed by these measures. Deciding that Potter wasn't stupid enough to fly Ministry colors all over the damned place in an attempt to gain Lucius' respect, Lucius figured that all these official measures were meant to impress other people, to show them that Potter was willing to do business with the Malfoys and confident enough to do it in plain view of everybody.

Now that sort of thought did impress Lucius.

The morning Potter was supposed to come calling, Lucius as a precaution, didn't touch Draco, and sent him somewhere else immediately after breakfast. Lucius did not want to be distracted at all. He simply couldn't afford to be—not until he met Potter's eyes and evaluated him. Besides, Lucius didn't want to take the chance that Draco or he would somehow telegraph the nature of their relationship to Potter and give him one more card to play. Everyone had long known that Draco was Lucius' weakness. Let them keep guessing about Draco's.

Harry arrived precisely on time. "Mr. Potter," Lucius said, from his position at one of his bookcases, where he was deliberately engaged in removing a book. He had intended to be coincidentally standing when Potter entered the room, in a show of neither cowed respect nor flagrant disrespect.

"Mr. Malfoy," came Harry's civil reply.

"Won't you sit?" Lucius asked, offering Potter a chair across from one that Lucius had clearly been occupying.

"Why, thank you." Potter flashed him a cool, quick smile as he settled in the chair Lucius had offered.

Merlin, the boy had grown. He was all lines and angles, the only exception being the natural curve of his mouth, which had lost its boyish softness and ceased to serve as a reminder of Potter's strange and wild innocence. It was lush and yet hard, like a strange and cruel parody of its former self. It bothered Lucius more than he could say. He would have expected that hardness in himself or Draco, who even if war had not come would have been all sharp edges and diamond hardness. Such a trait was something that would never have been natural to Harry and somewhere, something paternal in Lucius mourned for children whom war had twisted into cold warriors and politicians. Lucius blinked once, slowly, to clear his head. He could not afford sympathy for Potter, so he returned to dry observation.

In many ways, Potter had reminded Lucius of Draco. Like Draco, Potter was fierce, but where Draco's ferocity lay in cold determination, Potter's was passion. His eyes glittered with it. They had always glittered with a passion that had been alien to Lucius. Whereas before that passion had been allowed to run rampant, Potter now kept a tight reign on it. It showed mostly in his eyes, which Lucius took to mean that the passion that fueled Potter had been transformed from the passion of youth and righteousness to something darker, something that Potter could no longer let go unchecked. Lucius took his seat across from Potter, both curious to know what it was and wary about finding out.

"The Ministry has sent me to express its sincere regret over the mistreatment of your property during your period of wrongful incarceration and would like to reach a settlement to compensate you for your loss." Potter's tone was contrite. Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"Well, that is news. It appears that I am quickly becoming quite indebted to you, Mr. Potter. I'm sure that's not coincidental." Potter gave a small, secretive smile—one that was nearly as devastating as Draco's slow blink.

"No, I can't say that it is."

"Are we going to discuss your terms of repayment today?" Again that secretive smile.

"No, I don't think so. Enjoy your return a little while longer. There will be plenty of time for our business." Lucius didn't like that response, but he let it go. He was still getting reacquainted with Potter and it seemed prudent not to force the issue.

"May I offer you a drink, Mr. Potter? Tea? Something stronger perhaps?" Lucius settled on courtesy as his weapon of the day.

"No, thank you. Let's discuss the matter of compensation for the destruction of your—ahem, property."

"Do you know how much a house elf costs?" Lucius asked. House elves were quite expensive and hard to come by. Lucius doubted that Potter would be so nonchalant about the issue if he even had an inkling as to the actual worth of a house elf.

"Can't say that I do," Potter admitted frankly. "Give me fair market value and we'll multiply it by the number of house elves you lost when the Ministry came to search the manor."

"How do you know I'm not cheating you?" Potter gave another smile that was just barely a smirk.

"I don't, but I don't expect you to cheat me over something as simple as money. You have plenty of money, Mr. Malfoy. This is about principle. In principle, the Ministry admits that it has wronged you and is prepared to make amends." Potter's expression changed to reflect the earnest interest of someone eager to make those amends.

It suddenly occurred to Lucius that if Voldemort had been afraid of the Boy who Lived, he would have been terrified of the Man. Lucius himself was slowly beginning to be afraid of this latest incarnation of the Boy Who Lived. He was too smooth, too well prepared, and definitely less scrupulous than he had been previously. He seemed to not only know Lucius' games, but willing to play and master them.

Lucius gave Harry exactly fair market value for a house elf and Potter wrote Lucius a draft from the Ministry for an amount that was quite adequate to address Lucius' complaints. "We'll discuss what you owe me over dinner, Mr. Malfoy," Potter said, signing the draft and pocketing his quill.

"Here?" Lucius asked.

"No, I'll pick the place."

"Don't trust me?" Lucius asked with a small smirk. Potter replied with a smirk in kind.

"Of course I do. If I were to disappear after having told people I was going to dine with you, you and your son would be soulless shells faster than you can even think 'Dementor's Kiss.' I just want to take you some place a little more—" Potter searched for the word. "Intimate," he finished. Lucius willed himself to keep a straight face, remembering what Draco had said about Potter's interest in him.

"I'll owl you," Potter said, rising to his feet.

"I'll be waiting with baited breath," Lucius drawled. Potter grinned.

"Good to see that prison didn't break your spirit. You'll be needing it."

Cryptic words, said with a smile that caused Lucius to blanch inwardly as Potter showed himself out.

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As always, reviews, comments, and criticisms adored!

Love,

J. Silver


	6. A Modest Proposal

A/N: Hi again! Sorry for the long wait. I'm still having some issues with this chapter, but I think this the best I can do with it. I hope it lives up to your expectations of this fic.

Thank you very much to those of you kind enough to review: Bex Drake (not as long of a wait as you might think), ura-hd, Kazama Hasaki, Suika Severin, CrimsonTears, Aubrin Xerva, Vampyre Moon, Shiro Ryuu, Penguin Steps, Jane, MissJinny, Fiery Phoenix, B, Kelly, Ch3rryphr34k, louey31, Yukino-chan, aluma-river, angelkat2502, Madd Girl, and lil-bigga.

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The restaurant Potter chose for their rendezvous was a hopelessly fashionable one in an upscale neighborhood of wizarding London. Draco's lip had curled in distaste as he read the invitation, but he had said nothing. He continued to say nothing about it until he and Lucius were seated at a table with Potter, who looked quite smart in an obviously new set of dress robes.

"Good evening," Potter said with a small nod. Draco shot him a look of contempt.

"What gives, Potter?" If Potter was surprised by Draco's bluntness, he didn't show it. Then again, Potter was probably used to Draco being obnoxious.

"I need your talents. I need Draco's talents, specifically but Lucius' talents could become quite handy.."

"If my father is of no interest to you, then why'd you free the both of us?"

"I didn't say I had no interest in your father. I am quite interested in Lucius, but I'm not the only one interested in him, am I Draco?"

"Can't say that I'm following you, Potter." It was a lie. From the small smirk that flashed briefly across Harry's face, Lucius could tell that Draco's lie had not passed undetected.

"The ministry has long known that they could control Lucius via Draco. Lucius' concern for his son is legendary. But the big mystery has been what does Draco want? How can we manipulate Draco Malfoy—a cold, cruel, solitary man who seems to need nothing outside of himself and is immune to even the most… rigorous forms of interrogation."

"You forgot beautiful. It should've been after 'cold' and before 'cruel'." Draco said, looking rather bored. Potter grinned.

"And so you are, but I know what you need."

"Oh?" Draco raised an eyebrow in a parody of interest. It was almost comical— Draco's performance of a spoiled, immature brat. However, the situation was far too serious for Lucius to be amused, and Potter was not going to let Draco's feigned lack of interest put him off.

"You need him. Everything you've ever done is for him. Even your murders are for him, aren't they? If it was just for you, you'd make it clean and quick, but for him, you put on a show. Anyone can simply take a life, but only Draco Malfoy can turn death into a full scale production." Potter's voice was barely audible and devoid of all emotion for that last speech. It was the careful lack of emotion that made Lucius concerned. Awe, horror, disgust or indignation all would have been preferred to the calm, nonchalant way Potter was discussing the murder of at least two dozen people.

Likwise, it was a strange thing to see Draco's face so calm and so utterly remote. In fact, if Lucius hadn't heard from Draco's own lips how he felt about Lucius, the older Malfoy wouldn't have believed it coming from Potter now.

"You're so sure about this that you're willing to stake innocent lives and your whole career on this? If you're wrong, Potter, people could die," Draco said. Potter's smile turned Lucius' blood cold.

"But that's exactly what I want. People are going to die and you're going to kill them for me. You can let him watch if you want." Draco's look of calm was replaced with one of disgust.

"You should consider counseling, Potter. You're sick." Potter's eyebrows went up in polite interest.

"You think so? That may be, but I'm not the one with a hard-on under the table, am I?"

"No? " Draco asked with a small smile that made Lucius wonder if he was missing something.

"Shall I ask your father to check us both?"

Draco went silent.

"I need you, You need Lucius. You behave and I leave him alone. You make one misstep, if even so much as a bum on Knockturn Alley goes missing within a week of you passing through there, an anonymous source will give me enough evidence to send your father to Azkaban."

"We've already been cleared, Potter."

"Don't be stupid. You two weren't brought to trial for half the crimes I know you've committed. You're sitting here with me instead of rotting in a cell together because I want you to be here. In fact, you were rotting in that cell together because I wanted you to rot together."

"Why?" Lucius asked. Potter's smile was hard and the uncharacteristic viciousness of it made Lucius feel a little sick.

"I thought Draco would enjoy the opportunity to have his father's undivided attention."

"How thoughtful of you, Potter," Draco said with an exaggerated drawl. Potter looked amused.

"Nonsense, I thought it would make you more pliable."

Lucius laughed. "Mr. Potter, I think you misconstrued Draco's devotion to me. He has been good to me certainly since my wife's death, but before that the one he was really obsessed with was you."

It was Harry's turn to laugh. Draco remained expressionless, his eyes shifting from Harry to his father and then back to Harry with the first dark chuckle. "No, Lucius, I do believe it's you that is mistaken. Perhaps you underestimate your charm. I assure you, your son is quite madly in love with you."

Madly, Lucius admitted to himself, was quite the word for it, and he half-wondered if Draco's feelings for him had contributed to what he had become. It was an unpleasant thought and the father in him wanted to pull Draco to him, to stroke Draco's feathery blond hair and hold him tightly and apologize to him for not trying harder to understand.

He had thought Draco a beautiful, incomprehensible mystery and he had accepted that instead of fighting to really understand, perhaps missing forever the opportunity to give Draco a normal life. Well, a relatively normal life, anyway. One that did not involve murder and incest.

"Your theory is ridiculous, Potter." Icy venom dripped from Draco's voice.

"Tell me, Draco, when I fucked you, did you pretend that I was him?" Draco had the talent to look disgusted and shocked at the same time. Lucius was impressed. "Because I pretended that you were him."

The growl that escaped Draco at that statement was inhuman and it was accompanied by a look of pure rage that Lucius had never seen in Draco's face. It would have been terrifying if the whole situation wasn't so very interesting.

"You dare? You dare to say such a thing here? It's bad enough that you accuse me of wanting my father in that unnatural way, but to openly admit such a thing yourself. You and Voldemort are just alike—half-blood scum with no sense of propriety or respect, thinking that you can step on whomever you like because you're Merlin's gift to magic. You're worse than common because you don't even have the decency to realize that you are. You don't deserve the privilege of thinking about any Pureblood wizard that way, especially my father and I will not let you disrespect him in front of me!"

Lucius held his breath and tried to prevent a grin from spreading across his face. It was, by all accounts, a perfectly appropriate speech for such an occasion, though Lucius would've been happier if Draco had stayed away from heritage insults. Such politics were not popular at the moment and the Malfoys could hardly afford to make themselves anymore unpopular. However, the only answer more fitting would have been a request to duel, but by even avoiding that, Draco indirectly implied that Harry was not worth crossing wands with, which would lend further credibility to his offended pureblood pride.

"So you were slumming it with me, then?"

"I would call it doing you a favor." The pun caused Potter to smile.

"Then surely you won't mind doing me another favor—a less intimate one." Lucius frowned inwardly. If Potter thought Draco considered murder less intimate than sex, he was badly mistaken.

"Why?"

"Because there are still people like you out there—people who believed Voldemort's pureblood tosh and still seek to create such a place, weasels who want to fill void of the old dark lord with a new one, people who want to take advantage of people while they're still grieving and tending the worst of their wounds."

"And what do you expect us to do?"

"What you do best. You, Lucius, will make some pointed inquiries, whisper the right things into the right people's ears, pay off the right people, make useful friends. Draco will kill those useful friends and my enemies in such a way that they suspect each other."

"You want to use us to infiltrate the last pockets of resistance to you."

"And create a civil war amongst them."

"Bravo, I had no idea ferrets were that clever." The look of pure loathing that Draco shot Potter would have curdled milk.

"How can you trust us to do this?" Lucius asked.

"I don't. Hence the blackmail that I mentioned at the start of dinner and the looming threat of Azkaban in your future."

The first person Draco killed had been a woman who worked in the Department of Mysteries. She had been a pretty thing, older than Draco, with long, lovely dark hair and gorgeous eyes. Lucius remembered her eyes clearly. Draco had removed them instantly and cast a complicated charm on them that made the woman capable of seeing through them still. Then he had made her watch as he carved her into a fine example of what happened to those who defied the Dark Lord. That murder had not made headlines, but every ministry official knew the story anyway and once the nature of the charm on the eyes was known, it cast a dark shadow of fear over all.

Lucius looked back upon that and didn't know what to think. What he had felt that night had been awe. He had known that his son would kill and he had known Voldemort would require Draco to torture, but he had not been aware until the moment Draco had completed his charm on those beautiful blue eyes, that murder was Draco's art.

That was the worst part of Potter's proposal, somehow. Draco was reduced to a common assassin, and would be forbidden most of the things that marked his particular style. Draco's most private gift was completely at Potter's whim, devoid of any of the proper sentiment Draco would have ordinarily attached to it. Lucius couldn't have been more repulsed if Potter had raped his son and left a few galleons on the nightstand. The sense of violation was already complete.

Lucius felt his own anger rising, threatening to obscure the crystal clarity he needed to get the upper hand in a situation like this.

There was one other thing that Potter wanted, but offering it to him would make Draco even more enraged. Suddenly, Lucius saw it: they had no leverage in this situation. There was no way to gain the upper hand. Lucius thought of the night in prison when Draco had presented the possibility of a way out, and Lucius had sworn to himself to do whatever Potter wanted to keep Draco alive and free.

This would keep Draco alive, at least. Lucius would have to work on the free part of that deal on his own. With enough time and enough small manipulations, he might be able to do it. Lucius turned to Draco, and saw immediately that his son was going to refuse. Lucius knew it by the tense set of Draco's shoulders and the cold glitter in his eyes.

"Mr. Potter, may I talk with my son alone?" Lucius' voice was smooth, courteous.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy." With a small bow, Potter excused himself from the table. Lucius turned to Draco immediately.

"You will not refuse this offer!" He all but hissed at Draco, though his face remained a mask of coolness. Fury passed over the haughty indifference of Draco's features like a trick of the light. When he spoke, his voice was icy.

"I will not accept this. I will not become Potter's assassin and do his dirty work while he makes you into his whore." Lucius was forcibly reminded that it was with good reason that Narcissa had jokingly suggested that Draco's middle name should have been "Hubris."

"You would rather suffer in Azkaban? You think that would stop any of it from happening? You think that Potter won't break us both in Azkaban?"

Draco went silent.

"I don't want to see you broken, Draco. I could not bear such a thing, and he will do it. He's not the boy you once knew. He is something else and he will destroy us both if we don't cooperate."

"I have no fear of Azkaban."

Lucius didn't doubt it, but Lucius had faith in Potter's ability to get under Draco's skin.

"Draco, there isn't anything he can't do to us in Azkaban. There isn't anything he can't do to me in Azkaban." Draco's gazed snapped back to Lucius. Ah, so Draco hadn't really considered that. Lucius was relieved to have struck a nerve. "You cannot protect me there the way we can watch out for each other here, now. "

"If he touches you…" The hard set of Draco's jaw gave Lucius a strong indication of where the rest of that threat as going.

"As long as he thinks we're following his orders, is there any reason for him to do so?"

There was worry in Draco's eyes. Lucius resisted the urge to clasp Draco's hand. He resisted also the urge to sigh in relief. He had won the battle with Draco, at least.

Potter chose that moment to arrive. "Well?" he asked.

"We accept your terms, Potter," Draco said, his voice icy, and only Lucius would have caught the undertone of defeat. Potter smiled.

"Now that is exactly what I wanted to hear," he said.

The moment they arrived at the manor, the smooth mask of Draco's face crumpled immediately. Draco was livid and in his rage he was utterly feral. Lucius had never seen Draco like this. His eyes nearly glowed in the firelight of Lucius' study and his hair was wild, his teeth bared. If Lucius hadn't known better, he would've thought Draco inhuman.

Lucius reached out to Draco, his fingers brushing the back of his hand. Draco stopped prowling the room and looked at him. Lucius kissed Draco, his lips brushing Draco's, tentatively, expecting Draco to pull away. What he didn't expect was for Draco to bite him and grip Lucius' arms tightly.

Lucius saw red as Draco's bite turned into a searing kiss. Draco's hand entangled itself in Lucius's hair, yanking his head back, exposing his neck, which became the next target for Draco's sharp teeth and fierce kisses. Draco pushed Lucius down to the floor, none too gently, his hands tearing at Lucius' clothing, his nails raking against Lucius' skin, and then Draco was inside him and for a moment, Lucius was breathless.

Merlin, it burned—like his kisses, like a minor pain curse, the pain was sharp and exquisite and beyond that pain and laced within it was a feeling of intense pleasure and a feeling of being completely known and possessed. But someone was moaning. Lucius dimly realized that the sounds were coming from his throat, but they seemed so distant and Lucius was lost, totally outside himself as the sensations washed over him and he lost the ability to think or hear or see clearly and could only feel Draco inside him and his own body rushing to orgasm.

Lucius was lightheaded. The blood was pounding in his head, his vision was dark and it was moments before he could even recall who he was. Draco kissed him hard and held him tightly. Lucius lay limp in his arms, blinking slowly.

"Maybe next time, you should just brand me," Lucius said. Draco chuckled.

"Would you have enjoyed it as much?" he asked, tilting Lucius' face up to his. Draco's eyes were piercing as they surveyed Lucius. His hand ran over Lucius' left forearm. Lucius shivered, not only from Draco's touch, but also from the memory of the night he took the Dark Mark. The pain had left Lucius reeling and unable to sleep or think about anything but the pain in his arm for nearly two days afterward. "Besides," Draco continued, "only a barbarian would do anything to permanently mar your skin." To emphasize his point, he took Lucius' hand and kissed the now-unmarked skin of Lucius' forearm.

With his eyes half-closed, Lucius watched Draco, who seemed truly content in a way that surprised Lucius. If Draco was still upset, he didn't show it. If Draco felt any regret or embarrassment over his uncharacteristic and complete loss of temper, he didn't show that either. His long fingers traced the marks he left on Lucius skin and with barely audible whispers, he healed the worst of them. His manner was attentive and patient, the way it had been the day Black had came to interrogate Draco, the way it had been the day of Narcissa's funeral, and the day of their arrest.

And every day Lucius had ever truly needing comforting.

"Has anyone ever--?"

"No," Lucius replied, suddenly embarrassed, not so much by the question, but by the implications. It had been a rumor that surfaced periodically throughout Lucius' career as a Death Eater. Whenever the Dark Lord was lenient with him, whispers began that Lucius would be on his knees for the Dark Lord later.

"I know the rumors weren't true," Draco said. "My timing was clumsy. I didn't mean to infer…" for delicacy's sake, Draco let that thought continue unspoken. "But there has been no one else?"

Lucius shook his head. "No one else who has done what you just did, no."

Draco smiled softly, and kissed him.

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You know the drill, m'dears. Review!

Much love, as always,

J. Silver


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